


Who You Gonna Call?

by rsconne



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa Halloween Week, Costume contests, Crack, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fluff, Halloween Costumes, T-Rex suits are never not funny, You want to have sex where??, a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-26 23:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12568808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsconne/pseuds/rsconne
Summary: Clexa Halloween Week Day 6: Free DayOriginal Prompt: Clarke, Raven, and Octavia dress up as Ghostbusters for a costume competition, certain they’ll have the coolest costumes. But there are three other people there who can give them a run for their money (one of which is of course Lexa; bonus points if the other two are Anya and Lincoln). Petty attempts to sabotage and upstage the other Ghostbusters ensue.





	Who You Gonna Call?

“Wow, you guys look great!  Those proton packs look so realistic.  Can I get a photo?” 

Clarke shared a flattered grin across the table with Raven and Octavia.  They got to their feet for the third time so far and crowded together for a group photo.  Raven and Octavia stood back-to-back, arms crossed, looking tough in their tan jumpsuits with the neon piping across the chest and Ghostbusters logo patch on the shoulder.  Clarke squeezed in beside them.  She cocked one hand on her hip and propped her particle thrower casually over her shoulder.

“Awesome!  Thanks!”  Their most recent admirer gave them a thumbs-up and disappeared into the crowded barroom. 

The three women slid back into their seats in the front window of the bar.  Octavia saluted Clarke with her beer glass.  “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Clarke, this is a great costume.  Everybody loves Ghostbusters.”  Raven cleared her throat and gave Octavia a pointed look.  Octavia rolled her eyes.  “ _Yes_ , Raven, we _know_.  It’s the realistic tech that really sells it.”

Raven tossed her head at her friend and said confidently, “Trust me, when they see what these babies can _really_ do, we’ll be a shoo-in for first place.  That hundred bucks in bar cash is as good as ours.” 

“What did I tell you?”  Clarke said smugly.  “We’ve got it in the bag.  _No one_ is going to beat us this year,” she said flatly.  _Least of all *her.*_   The three of them clinked their beer glasses together and toasted to imminent victory.  They relaxed and snacked on a giant mound of nachos while surveying the room and gauging their competition.  The annual Halloween grad school mixer and costume contest at Grounders’ Tavern was easily the highlight of the fall semester.  As if discounted food and beer wasn’t incentive enough, the prospect of winning house cash for best costumes provided powerful motivation  for broke, overworked graduate students to procrastinate projects and papers and instead blow off stress in an evening of debauched revelry. 

It was early, but the bar was starting to fill up.  There was the usual assortment of Batmen, Harry Potters, and “sexy” nurses/black cats/cheerleaders.  A couple of guys Clarke vaguely recognized from the Zoology department were dressed in off-the-rack Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costumes.  At the bar, an overweight Jayne from _Firefly_ was having little success chatting up Barb from _Stranger Things_.  Clarke had seen at least three Captain Americas so far, and the night was still young.  She raised her eyebrows as the Dread Pirate Roberts walked past, arm-in-arm with a scantily-clad woman sporting cat ears and sparkly, rainbow wings.  “Who’s she supposed to be?” she wondered aloud.

Raven made a face.  “If you can’t tell, it’s usually anime or video games.” 

Clarke continued to scan the crowd, adamantly telling herself she wasn’t keeping an eye out for _her_.  Really, she wasn’t.  She _wasn’t_.  “So, Octavia,” she said casually, sipping her drink, “where’s Lincoln?” 

Octavia shook her head and looked at her phone with a slight frown.  “I thought he’d be here by now, he said they were planning to get here by 8.  And before you ask— _again_ —no, I have no idea what Lexa is planning.”

Clarke scoffed.  “Like I care about whatever lame idea she came up with,” she said, the scorn evident in her voice.  She picked at the plate of nachos. 

Octavia shot her a level look.  “You haven’t shut up about it for the last month.  You know, Clarke,” she said mildly, “don’t you think you’re getting a little too worked up about this competition?”

“I’m not _worked up!_ ”  Clarke protested crossly.  “But aren’t you tired of losing to them?  I mean, ok, I could live with coming in second at Field Day last fall.  Stupid obstacle course,” she muttered under her breath.  “But we totally had them dead to rights in the flag football tournament last month—”

“Yeah, until _someone_ decided to play tackle instead of touch and got us disqualified,” Raven said lightly. 

“It— _she_ —it was _not_ my fault!  She started it, she was _holding_ the _whole game_ , and the damn ref wouldn’t call it!” Clarke spluttered in outrage.  Her cheeks pinked at the memory of Lexa’s hands tugging at the back of her shirt and her strong arm wrapping around her waist….

“Besides,” Raven reasoned, snapping Clarke’s mind out of the traitorous thoughts, “we beat them in the karaoke sing-off back in the spring.”

“Fuckin’ A we did!” Octavia cheered.  She bumped fists with Clarke.

“Yeah, Lincoln should’ve warned Lexa not to challenge me and O on ‘Baby Got Back,’” Clarke preened.   

“Who says he didn’t?” Raven murmured to herself.  She took another drink and shook her head at her friend’s obtuseness. 

“Anyway, you’ve gotta admit we got robbed at last year’s costume contest,” Clarke said, scooping some chili and cheese mixture onto a chip.  “Octavia and I made a great Daphne and Fred, and you can’t _get_ any more Shaggy than Jasper.”

“This is true,” Raven sighed.  “My steampunk Velma was bitchin’.”   

“And they beat us with Heathers, Rae.  Fucking _Heathers_ ,” Clarke grumbled around a mouthful of nachos. 

“Well, yeah, but it was a good costume.  They did look good,” Octavia conceded.  She hunched her shoulders defensively at Clarke’s speechless expression.

“That’s not the _point_ , Octavia!” Clarke huffed, steadfastly putting the image of knee-high argyle socks and that short, plaid skirt that barely covered Lexa’s sleek thighs out of her mind.  “This year we’re going to own them, or I swear to God, next year we’re all dressing as slave Leias!”   

A sudden commotion and the flicker of lights outside drew her attention and she looked out the window.  A white, late-80s model hearse topped with flashing blue lights and a decal on the door pulled up to the curb.  “No,” Clarke breathed in disbelief.  Her face darkened and her hands clenched involuntarily.  “ _No_.  You have got to be _fucking_ kidding me!”

*********

Anya turned the hearse down the street toward Grounders and drove the remaining few blocks.  Lexa finished checking her phone and stowed it in the pocket of her solid beige jumpsuit.  “Lincoln said he’s almost there.”  She wrestled her proton pack onto her back and adjusted the straps.  Echo passed Anya’s forward from the rear cargo compartment.  Lexa’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she checked in with the two of them.  “Are you guys ready?” 

Anya smirked back at her.  “ _I_ am, but are you sure _you_ are?” 

Confusion crossed Lexa’s face.  “What do you mean?”

Anya rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded like _idiot_.  “ _Clarke_ , dummy.  You know she’s gonna be pissed.  Doesn’t bother me, I kind of get a kick out of tweaking Blondie, but am I gonna have to listen to you get all drunk and morose when she refuses to talk you after this?”

Lexa’s mouth hung open.  “I do not get ‘all drunk and morose’ because of Clarke!”  

Anya made eye contact with Echo in the rearview mirror.  Echo snickered and clapped Lexa on the shoulder in comradely fashion.  “Um, yeah you do.  Honestly, if you want her attention, why don’t you just _talk_ to her, like a normal human being, instead of doing all this?”

“There’s no ‘all this!’  It’s just a costume contest!” Lexa insisted defensively, deliberately ignoring the remark about wanting Clarke’s attention.  “Why should we have to change our idea just because we found out they were doing the same thing?”

Echo lifted a skeptical eyebrow.  “We don’t.”  She gestured at the interior of the vehicle.  “We also didn’t have to turn it up to eleven and borrow a freakin _hearse_ from Gustus’s junkyard.  But it’s your funeral,” she said philosophically.

Lexa outwardly brushed their concerns aside.  “It’ll be fine, it’s just a friendly competition.” 

_It’s just a game, Clarke knows that._

_Yeah?  Is that how you would take it?_

Anya braked the hearse to a stop and double parked in front of the bar.  She hit the light bar and the flashers, and Lexa helped her into her own proton pack.  Lexa readied her particle thrower and said in a determined voice, “Ok, let’s do this.”  The three of them leaped out of the vehicle and shouldered their way through the small crowd of patrons out front, holding back smiles at the camera flashes and admiring chatter.

“Out of the way, please, coming through,” Lexa directed importantly.  “Paranormal investigators on scene.”  She and Anya held particle throwers at the ready and Echo pretended to scan the area with a makeshift PKE Meter.  They pushed through the front doors of the bar and cleared a path to the main dance area.  Anya put her fingers to her mouth and released a piercing whistle that startled many of the bar goers into momentary quiet.  They struck a pose and Lexa shouted over the muted bar noise, “Did someone call for some Ghostbusters?”

The crowd clapped and cheered in appreciation.  Lexa scanned the room triumphantly, looking for a gleam of vivid blue.  She finally located Clarke near the front of the bar with her friends.  Lexa’s mischievous grin froze on her lips at the blanket of rage she found on Clarke’s face. 

_Uh oh._

*********

 "What. The Actual. Fuck,” Clarke seethed, her cheeks splotched in fury.  She bounded up from her seat and headed toward Lexa’s group, ready to have it out once and for all.  Raven quickly grabbed her from behind and held her back with both arms. 

“Hey, hey, hey—Clarke, chill!”

Clarke struggled to free herself from Raven’s restraining grip. “Don’t fucking tell me to _chill_!  How the fuck did they know?” 

Clarke was almost beside herself, but if anything, Octavia looked even more furious.  “Oh, I have a pretty good idea,” she said grimly.  Her eyes zeroed in on Lincoln as he entered through the back door.  He was dressed in an inflatable Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man suit.  Octavia made a beeline in his direction. 

Clarke and Raven watched their altercation from the far side of the bar.  Lincoln saw the black cloud of Octavia’s wrath coming his way and he backed up against the nearest wall in panic.  He raised two placating, pleading hands as she pressed into his personal space.  His puffy suit jiggled as she repeatedly stabbed him in the chest with her forefinger.  Some of the tension seemed to leave her body as he talked rapidly.  She gave him a final, warning jab with her finger and returned to her friends with slumped shoulders.

“It’s my fault,” she said, hanging her head.  “I mentioned it to him a couple of weeks ago.  I didn’t think anything of it, I guess he didn’t either.  It was all just a silly contest to us, you know?  He said he let it slip to Lexa in passing—and I believe him,” she added hastily.  “He wouldn’t deliberately rat us out if he realized it was a secret.  Anyway, he said Lexa’s group was already planning their own Ghostbusters costume, so at least they didn’t steal our idea.”

Clarke was only slightly mollified.  “Yeah, but I bet they weren’t planning to show up in the damn Ecto-One until he told them,” she snapped.  “And how come he didn’t tell _you_ what they were planning?” 

“Oh, believe me,” Octavia said with a steely glint in her eye, “that’s a conversation we are going to have.  He knows he done fucked up.”  Her lips twisted in a humorless grin.  “He also knows he’s my bitch for the foreseeable future.” 

Raven hummed.  “That’s good, we can work with that,” she said, nodding slowly.  She draped one arm over each of their shoulders.  “It’s gonna be fine.  We’ve totally got this,” she insisted reassuringly.  “They may have a car, but _we’ve_ got the tech.”  She grinned deviously.  “Here’s what we’re gonna do.  O, you’ll get Lincoln on board.  Clarke and I will go find Jasper and Monty.”  She scanned the room for them and lit on Monty, dressed like a big game hunter with a bullwhip and a fedora, and Jasper, who was wearing an inflatable T-Rex suit.  “Hmm.  Maybe just Monty.  And whoever else we can rustle up, doesn’t matter.  Here’s what we’re gonna do….”

*********

Bellamy shot Raven a thumbs-up across the room as he made his way out of the DJ booth.  Raven nodded acknowledgment and leaned in to whisper in Monty’s ear.  As she did, the dance music abruptly scratched and went silent.  Eerie, vibrating electronic beats took its place.  Partygoers on the dance floor stilled their movements in bewilderment.  Amid the confusion, Monty, Harper, and Bellamy wandered onto the floor and began twitching and thrashing their hands over their heads.  Dancers backed away warily, giving them more space.  Right on cue, Lincoln stepped into the cleared area in full Stay Puft character.  He thrust out his chest and flung his hands over his head and chortled loud, evil laughter. 

Hums of laughter and curiosity rippled through the bar.  A bright light suddenly spotlit Stay Puft.  He threw up his hands to shield his eyes from it.  Raven, Octavia, and Clarke burst onto the floor.  Raven trained her tactical flashlight on Lincoln with one hand and held a whirring PKE meter in the other.  Clarke and Octavia, meanwhile, took up positions on either side of Stay Puft and held their particle throwers at the ready. 

"Got one!” Raven shouted.      

Clarke looked at Octavia and took a deep breath.  _Here goes nothing.  I hope Raven’s tech works_.  “Light him up, O!” she barked.  They both aimed their particle throwers and flipped the switches on the side.  Red strobe lights pulsed and the miniature air compressors Raven had rigged into the wands shot out ten-foot-long air tube streamers.  The growing throng of bar goers near the dance floor clapped and roared their approval.  Clarke raised impressed eyebrows at Raven, who grinned and winked in reply.  Clarke kept her own grin in check and focused on Stay Puft with exaggerated determination.  She and Octavia hammed it up for the audience.

Lexa watched from the other side of the room as the skit played out and the crowd’s cheers grew more raucous.  A frustrated flush crept up her throat and the vein at her temple pulsed as she fumed.  Despite her irritation at being upstaged, a warm ache stirred in her belly and she couldn’t drag her eyes away from Clarke’s ebullient antics.  _Challenge accepted, Griffin_.  She whispered furious orders in Anya’s and Echo’s ears, then brushed through the mass of people to sidle up to Luna, an erstwhile classmate.

“Luna,” Lexa said urgently, forgoing pleasantries in the interest of expedience, “I need a really big favor.” 

Luna sighed in resignation. “You know I don’t want to get sucked into your little war.  But you _did_ help me get through the first-year pro-seminar, so I guess I owe you one.” 

Lexa tersely explained what she wanted the DJ to do.  “And I don’t care how you do it,” she said through clenched teeth, her eyes once more locked on Clarke.  “Just convince him.”

Luna rolled her eyes, but did as she asked.  She returned moments later with a wry smile.  “Derek said he’d do it.  You’re lucky he’s cute, I had to give him my number.”

Lexa nodded tersely.  “Thanks, Luna.”  She moved away to marshal her forces.

On the dance floor, the skit finally reached its denouement.  Clarke and Octavia had lashed Stay Puft for long minutes with their flashing air tubes.  Lincoln threw himself into his role with gusto, howling and flailing about in apparent enraged incapacitation.  At last, Raven slid out an authentic looking trap and pumped its floor pedal with her foot.  The small box’s lid opened, spilling out bright led light.  “Now!” Raven signaled.  Clarke and Octavia closed in on Stay Puft.  He sank to his knees and then prostrated himself on the floor under the combined force of their particle throwers’ air streams.  The trap’s lid snapped shut with a thunk.  The bar erupted in whistles and applause. 

The three women exchanged exuberant grins, but they had barely had time to high-five each other before the sound system kicked on again with an all-too-familiar song.  They looked at each other in confusion.  “I thought you asked the DJ to wait for your signal?” Clarke shouted over the music.

Raven shrugged helplessly.  She started to answer…and then just stood in open-mouthed disbelief, indignant outrage sweeping across her face.  Lexa, Echo, and Anya pranced onto the dance floor as the music kicked into the familiar lyrics and launched into a clearly choreographed dance routine.  

_“If there's something strange_

_In your neighborhood  
_

_Who you gonna call?”_

Lexa cupped a hand to her ear and the bar erupted in a callback of “Ghostbusters!”  She shot Clarke a cheeky, triumphant grin and continued shaking her ass to the routine, playing up to the crowd, which clearly had no clue that there were two competing groups of Ghostbusters, much less that their rivalry had just escalated into a blood feud. 

Clarke, Octavia, and Raven stood on the edge of the dance area.  Clarke chewed her lip as she stewed, utterly speechless that Lexa had stolen their _song_!  That was the _best part_.  It didn’t help that her eyes were drawn to a certain green glint, or that her fingers itched to run through waves of honey-brown hair.  Or that her whole body tingled at the thought of soft, luscious lips gliding against her own.  Or that Lexa’s perfectly-formed ass looked more grabbable in that jumpsuit than it had any right to.  She tried to shove the images from her mind, but as she watched Lexa bounce and gyrate, her treacherous brain cheerfully furnished fresh, even more decadent, desires to take their place.  Clarke closed her eyes and shuddered, torn between righteous anger and another, very different, sensation that she recognized but still refused to acknowledge.  She unsnapped a couple of buttons on her jumpsuit, telling herself that she was sweating from the exertion of their skit and not from the scene playing out in front of her.

Octavia vanished to go find Lincoln, who, after his redemptive performance in the skit, had resolved to play the role of Switzerland.  Clarke wanted to turn away in disgust when their three rivals’ capering devolved into a “Who you gonna call?” “Ghostbusters!” call and response toward the end, but she was too mesmerized by Lexa.  That didn’t stop her from complaining bitterly to Raven, “They stole our _song_ , Rae!”

Raven clenched her jaw.  “I never thought it would come to this,” she muttered darkly.  “They may have started this shit, but I’m going to _end_ it,” she promised cryptically. 

“Raven, do _not_ set off explosions in the bar!  Seriously, none of us have bail money,” Clarke warned.

Raven scanned the bar for a moment, then, apparently locating her quarry, withdrew a couple of small, white pouches from her cargo pocket.  Her reassuring smile was fleeting.  “Don’t worry, Clarke, I’ve got this.  If anyone asks, you knew nothing.  Total deniability,” and with that, she took off for the other side of the room before Clarke could protest further.  The last Clarke saw of her, she was deep in conversation with John Murphy, another grad student she knew in passing who worked part-time as a bar back.  Clarke thought she saw Raven hand off the packets, but it was hard to tell in the dim lighting.    

Once the _Ghostbusters_ theme ended, Derek the DJ switched back to typical dance music.  The floor quickly filled again.  Octavia returned with Lincoln in tow, who, if not fully forgiven, was at least no longer in the doghouse.  She made Clarke and Raven leave their proton packs in their booth and forcibly dragged them onto the dance floor.  “We came here to have _fun_ , Clarke—it’s just a stupid contest,” she said firmly.  She pointed across the dance floor at their rivals, who were dancing and laughing, and made the argument that she knew would carry the most weight.  “Besides, do you really want to give them the satisfaction of ruining your evening?”  Clarke relented, and after a few songs she stopped sulking and started to enjoy herself. 

*********

Anya leaned in and shouted over the music, “So are you going to talk to her or not?”

Lexa looked confused.  “Talk to who?”

Anya rolled her eyes.  “Angela Merkel.  _Blondie_ , dummy.  You’ve been eyeballing her ever since we walked in.” 

“I have not!” Lexa protested halfheartedly.

Echo snorted.  “Please.  You’ve been checking out her reaction all night, and _right now_ you’re deliberately dancing so that you can see her.”

Lexa groaned.  Fine.  Maybe she _had_ been watching the other woman.  Was it her fault that Clarke’s hair shimmered under the revolving stage lights?  Or that every time she threw her head back in laughter, the pale, slender column of her throat cried out to be marked by eager lips?  Or that the way her curves filled out that jumpsuit made Lexa want to strip it away to reveal the delectable flesh beneath? 

“Lex,” Anya said in exasperation, “just go _talk_ to her.” 

“Ugh.  I fucked up.  Like you guys said, I took it too far.” Lexa grimaced. 

“Well, stealing the song _was_ kind of a dick move—” Echo pointed out.

“That’s not what you said at the time!”

Anya defended them.  “Hey, I don’t give a shit if Blondie gets her panties in a wad.  I’m not the one who’s hot for her.”  Lexa didn’t deny it. 

Echo chimed in.  “Look, you’ve gotten so caught up whatever this game is to get her attention that you don’t see that you _have_ her attention.  She’s been checking you out all night.”

Lexa laughed humorlessly.  “She’s not checking me out, she’s plotting how to kill me.  She _hates_ me.”  She risked another peek across the dance floor.

Anya looked at the ceiling and then at Echo with a _Lord, give me patience_ expression.  “Uh, that’s not hate, Lex.  Go. Talk. To. Her,” she said with exaggerated slowness, as if speaking to a recalcitrant toddler.  “If nothing else, you can apologize.”

“Apologize?  That’s rich, coming from you.  You’re the poster child for never saying you’re sorry,” Lexa scoffed.

“And yet I guarantee you that I’ll be the one getting laid tonight,” Anya smirked, sizing up a particularly well-turned-out Wonder Woman.  “Whatever.  Talk to her, don’t talk to her.  You’re a grown-ass woman, figure your shit out.  Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve gotta go see a woman about a lasso of truth.”  She nodded at Echo and patted Lexa on the shoulder and moved away. 

“Yeah, I think I see Wolverine over there checking me out.  You gonna be ok on your own?” Echo asked. 

Lexa laughed and shooed her away.  She was debating hitting the bar for another drink when “Push It” blared over the speakers and a commotion rippled through the crowd.  Someone in an inflatable T-Rex suit charged onto the floor and began floundering and thrashing about in what Lexa could only assume was intended to be a provocative dance.  A circle cleared around the T-Rex and he stepped up his moves.  Lexa smiled despite herself.  By the time the song ended, the T-Rex was flopping on the floor—either attempting to do The Worm, or simply humping the floor, it wasn’t clear—and Lexa was laughing helplessly along with the rest of the bar.  In that moment, her eyes happened to catch Clarke’s.  Whether Clarke had been looking at her already or if it was just a happy accident, Lexa couldn’t tell, but this time she didn’t pretend she hadn’t seen.  She stopped laughing and instead just looked back at Clarke with a bashful smile.  Clarke wasn’t laughing any more either, but she also wasn’t scowling or frowning, or making any of the faces that Lexa was used to receiving from her.  Lexa held her stare for a few brief moments.  Clarke broke contact first, and Lexa swore she saw the ghost of a return smile.         

*********

“How much longer are you going to keep this up?”  Octavia cut into Clarke’s whirling thoughts.

“Keep what up?” she replied absently, her mind still on dancing green eyes crinkled in laughter.

“The eyefucking,” Octavia said bluntly.

“ _What_?  That’s—that’s—I’m not _eyefucking_ Lexa!  I’m imagining all the different ways I’d like to _murder_ her!”  Clarke’s blush betrayed her.

“Uh huh,” Octavia said with a knowing smirk.  “You didn’t even ask who I was talking about.  Come on, Clarke, when are you going to quit being so stubborn?  She’s only trying to get a rise out of you because she likes you.”   

Before Clarke could formulate a response, the music stopped and the stage lights came up.  The president of the grad student association walked up to the small stage area and took the mic.  He made some introductory remarks to thank the organizers and the bar staff, then proceeded to the moment they’d all been waiting for: the awards.  Raven, Octavia, and Clarke looked at each other in anticipation.  They cheered dutifully for the second and third place winners, then held their breath as the announcer called out the prize for first.  “And in first place, The Original Ghostbusters!” 

Clarke and Octavia slumped amid the surrounding cheers.  Their costumes were for the reboot.  Raven, meanwhile, had caught sight of Murphy behind the bar and given him a sharp nod.  He acknowledged her signal and disappeared into the kitchen with Emori, one of the servers, in tow. 

“Wait, hold up a second!”  The president held a quick consultation with some of the other officers and then got back on the mic.  “It seems there’s been some confusion—our judges didn’t realize there were two competing sets of Ghostbusters tonight.  We’ve decided to award a joint first prize to both groups!  Let’s get a representative from each group up here to accept the award!” 

Unable to locate either Echo or Anya in the audience, Lexa made her way to the front.  Meanwhile, Octavia and Clarke squealed and Clarke hastened forward.  Raven, however, looked ashen and called after Clarke, “Clarke, no—wait!” But it was too late.  Lexa and Clarke mounted the stage and shook hands, first with the grad officers and then, tentatively, with each other.  Just as they turned back to face the bar, Murphy and Emori burst out of the kitchen, each bearing a giant, stainless steel kitchen pan of runny green jello.  They pushed up to the front and heaved the contents onto the two winners and shouted “You’ve been slimed!” and then scampered away. 

The bar broke out in hoots and applause, thinking that it was a continuation of the act.  The two winners stood stock still, coated in green goo, neither of them quite able to look at each other.  Clarke’s eyes found Raven’s through the crowd.  Raven winced, and Octavia commented, “Now _that’s_ what she looks like when she’s planning to murder someone.”

*********

Clarke stormed into the bathroom behind Lexa.  She was seething again, at her friends, at Lexa, at the whole stupid thing.  The door banged shut behind her.  “This is all your fault,” she sniped at Lexa, who was standing in front of the sink wiping the residue from her face with wet paper towels.

Lexa’s head whipped around.  _“My_ fault?!” she spat back.  “How is it _my_ fault that _your friend_ —yeah, I saw that look you gave Raven—conspired to dump fucking jello all over _me_?  Because I can’t imagine that you were the target!”  She threw the soiled paper towel at the trash can and cursed when she missed. 

Clarke pushed in beside her and wet her own paper towel to scrub her face.  “This never would have happened if you hadn’t stolen our costume in the first place!” 

Lexa was a half-step slow to respond; she was too caught up in watching Clarke in the mirror as she toweled herself off.  “We didn’t _steal_ your idea, it was our idea, too!” Clarke laughed humorlessly.  “It _was_!” she insisted.  “We’d already gotten the jumpsuits ready before Lincoln ever said anything.”  She intended to say more, but her explanation got stuck in her throat when Clarke unzipped her jumpsuit to the waist and _holy shit_ did her boobs look amazing in that tight white tank top, now sticky and saturated with green goop.  Lexa’s own jumpsuit began to feel uncomfortably itchy and sticky, and not just from the jello.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to go as far as renting a fucking hearse!”  Clarke threw back at her, dabbing at her shirt. 

Lexa tried to keep her eyes on the mirror and not gawk, she did, but that angle was giving her a particularly good view of Clarke’s cleavage and really, she was only human.  “We didn’t rent it,” she said simply, sneaking glances when she thought Clarke wasn’t looking.  “Anya’s cousin Gustus owns a junkyard and had one he let us borrow.”  She mopped the jello off her neck and looked down with a frown, realizing that it had seeped past her collar, too.  She wet a paper towel and unzipped her own jumpsuit before she realized that she was only wearing a black sports bra underneath.  From the sudden inhalation next to her, Clarke had also come to that realization.  Lexa’s eyes shot back up to the mirror and locked with Clarke’s.  “We were just trying to win,” she said softly, holding her widening gaze.

Clarke finally forced her eyes away with a shudder.  “I know,” she sighed.  She couldn’t explain why Lexa’s tone washed her anger away, she just knew that she was tired of fighting her.  Lexa’s proximity was wreaking havoc on her composure already, and the sight of her ripped abs above the waistband of her underwear, which was just peeking out of her jumpsuit, made Clarke want to do very naughty things, like tongue the jello off those muscles one achingly well-defined ridge at a time.  Clarke didn’t even like jello. 

She clung to her self-control by her fingernails and turned sideways to look at Lexa directly.  “I know you were just trying to win, but _damn_ it, why do you have to do be so fucking perfect at _everything_?” she said in exasperation, unconsciously edging toward her. 

Lexa gaped in surprise and turned to face Clarke, taking in the pink fluster sweeping over her cheeks, the slight heave of her chest from her quickened breath, the tantalizing part of her lips that just begged to be kissed.  “ _I’m_ fucking perfect?!  Every class I’ve had with you, you’re the smartest one in the room!  You’re a natural leader, don’t you see how people look to you?  Your smile, it fucking lights up the room,” she rambled, not noticing the deepening hue in Clarke’s eyes.  She threw up a hand in frustration.  “Shit, Clarke, I’m just trying to keep up with _you_!” 

Lexa’s eyes flew open in astonishment as Clarke grabbed her by the collar of her jumpsuit and kissed her.  She let her eyes fall shut and sighed into the kiss.  Her hands found their way to the nape of Clarke’s neck and curled in the soft hairs.  Her mouth opened for Clarke’s insistent tongue and small, desperate noises broke from her throat as the kiss deepened and grew more urgent.  She kissed her back, relishing the soft give of Clarke’s lips juxtaposed with the rougher nip of her teeth against Lexa’s own lips.  “You’re so infuriating,” Clarke groaned against her mouth.  She backed Lexa against the wall without conscious intent and pressed their bodies closer.   

“I know,” Lexa sighed.  She dove back in for another kiss.  Her hands edged inside Clarke’s jumpsuit and ran lightly up the sides of Clarke’s ribcage to cup her breasts through her shirt.

“You’re such a shit sometimes.”

“I know.  I’m sorry about hijacking the song.  It was a shitty thing to do,” she murmured.  She began to circle Clarke’s nipples gently with her thumbs. 

Clarke moaned at the sensation.  She lowered her head to suck a kiss at Lexa’s pulse point and began inching her way lower.  “God, I’ll never be able to see jello again without thinking about the taste of your skin.”   

Lexa gave a throaty groan.  She mindlessly ground her hips upward against Clarke and Clarke whimpered in response.  “ _Fuck_.”  She pulled her back up to chase her tongue in another kiss.  “You wanna get out of here?”    

“God, yes.”  She dropped another lingering kiss and then stepped back, absorbing Lexa’s rough breathing, heavy-lidded eyes, and shiny, kiss-bruised lips.  It took all her self-control to reach out and zip Lexa’s suit up instead of ripping it off of her right there.  She refastened her own somewhat haphazardly and took Lexa’s hand.  They walked hurriedly out of the bathroom and out the back door, talking as they went, barely able to keep their hands off of each other. 

“I live across town.  How far is your place?” 

“Maybe a ten minute Uber ride,” Lexa replied, gripping at Clarke’s ass with one hand and digging for her phone with the other as they stumbled into the darkened parking lot.

“Right, ok,” Clarke pulled her in for another kiss.  “We can…we can wait that long,” she panted, the fingers playing with Lexa’s zipper giving the lie to her words. 

“Or….”  The peculiar tone in her voice broke through Clarke’s fog of lust.  She followed Lexa’s gaze until her eyes landed on the Ecto-One.  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Clarke was nodding vigorously and dragging Lexa toward the hearse before she even finished her sentence.  “ _Yes_.”  She managed to peel Lexa’s jumpsuit halfway off before she even got the door open, and they tumbled into the carpeted cargo area in a tangle of kisses and flying clothes and bare, heated skin.  Just before the door banged shut, Clarke whispered with a wicked grin, “Guess what, Lexa?”

“Mmm?”

“This is a contest we both get to win.”


End file.
